But when he returned to the fire where Constance and Portlaw sat in silence, the report he brought was only negative.  A third doctor from Albany arrived at nightfall and left an hour later.  He was non-committal and in a hurry, and very, very famous.

CHAPTER XXI

REINFORCEMENTS

All day Portlaw had been telephoning and telegraphing the various stations along the New York Central Railroad, following the schedule from his time-table and from the memoranda given him by young Mrs. Malcourt; and now the big, double, covered buckboard and the fast horses, which had been sent to meet them at Pride’s, was expected at any moment.

“At least,” Portlaw confided with a subdued animation to Wayward, “we’re going to have a most excellent dinner for them when they arrive.  My Frenchman is doing the capons in Louis XI style—­”

“Somebody,” said Wayward pleasantly, “will do you in the same style some day.”  And he retired to dress, laughing in an odd way.  But Portlaw searched in vain for the humour which he had contrived somehow to miss.  He also missed Malcourt on such occasions—­Malcourt whose nimble intelligence never missed a trick!

“Thank the Lord he’s coming!” he breathed devoutly.  “It’s bad enough to have a man dying on the premises without having an earthly thing to do while he’s doing it....  I can see no disrespect to Hamil if we play a few cards now and then.”

His valet was buttoning him up when Malcourt arrived and walked coolly into his room.

“Louis!  Damnation!” ejaculated Portlaw, purple with emotion.

“Especially the latter,” nodded Malcourt.  “They tell me, below, that Hamil is very sick; wait a moment!—­Mrs. Malcourt is in my house; she is to have it for herself.  Do you understand?”

“Y-yes—­”

“All right.  I take my old rooms here for the present.  Tell Williams.  Mrs. Malcourt has brought a maid and another trained nurse for emergencies.  She wanted to; and that’s enough.”

“Lord, but I’m glad you’ve come!” said Portlaw, forgetting all the reproaches and sarcasms he had been laboriously treasuring to discharge at his superintendent.

“Thanks,” said Malcourt drily.  “And I say; we didn’t know anybody else was here—­”

“Only his aunt and Wayward—­”

Malcourt cast a troubled glance around the room, repeating:  “I didn’t understand that anybody was here.”

“What difference does that make?  You’re coming back to stay, aren’t you?”

Malcourt looked at him.  “That’s supposed to be the excuse for our coming....  Certainly; I’m your superintendent, back from a fortnight’s leave to get married in....  That’s understood.” ...  And, stepping nearer:  “There’s hell to pay in town.  Have you seen the papers?”

“Not to-day’s—­”

“They’re down-stairs.  Wormly, Hunter & Blake have failed—­liabilities over three million.  There’s probably going to be a run on the Shoshone Securities Company; Andreas Hogg and Gumble Brothers have laid down on their own brokers and the Exchange has—­”